


Scene from Ten AUs

by tsuristyle



Category: SMAP
Genre: Fly PV, Gen, Harry Potter - Freeform, Kimura and his weird yankee bandmate friend, M/M, Mori not leaving, Mpreg?, fox spirits, future cyberpunk dystopia, motorcycle racing team SMAP, normal people au, what writers do when they run out of ideas for porn, xxxHolic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8929960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuristyle/pseuds/tsuristyle
Summary: From Harry Potter to xxxholic to motorcycle team!SMAP, some actual AUs and some standalone excerpts.(Written September 2012.)





	

1\. Harry Potter  
  
Nakai flopped down onto the seat across from Kimura, tugging off his green-and-white-striped scarf. "Okay, Kimura, you seriously need to quit putting beauty charms on your hair, all the girls and like half the boys in my class are in love with you."  
  
"What's wrong with that?" Goro looked over, carefully spelling a stray lock of his own hair back into place. A mirror was levitating patiently in front of him. "I think it's wonderful for him to inspire love between houses."  
  
"It's _gross_ ," Nakai said, making a face. He reached over and poked the mirror, causing it to sway in the air. " _You're_ gross, too. Are all Ravenclaws as vain as you?"  
  
Kimura swatted at Nakai's hand. "You're just jealous because you can't get the charm to work right."  
  
"Am not--"  
  
The sound of running echoed down the hallway. "I'm going to get there first!"  
  
"No you aren't, I am!" A second later, two boys burst into the room, diving for the seat next to Kimura. There was a tangle as they both reached it at the same time, and then the one wearing a red scarf muttered something that sent the one in a yellow scarf flying.  
  
"Ow! No fair, Shingo, that's cheating!"  
  
Kimura smacked Shingo's head. "What have I told you about using spells like that?" Shingo ducked his head, looking down at the table. Kimura yanked the boy's sleeve back. "And don't keep your wand in your sleeve! Idiot, you'll lose an arm like that!"  
  
"Ow." The other boy stood up, rubbing his elbow. "Don't yell at him, it was my fault for suggesting the race. I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't apologize to _him_ , he's just as bad." Nakai yanked him over to the table by his robes. "Tsuyoshi, roll up your sleeve."  
  
Tsuyoshi did so obediently; his elbow was scratched and bleeding. "I think I scraped it."  
  
"I'm sorry!" Shingo grabbed his wand and started to stand up. "I'll fix it, I know a healing charm that should work--"  
  
Kimura smacked Shingo's head again. "Sit down. I'll do it, I--"  
  
"Oh, shut up, both of you." Nakai touched his wand to Tsuyoshi's elbow, muttering under his breath. A moment later, the redness healed over and vanished, and Tsuyoshi flexed his elbow experimentally.  
  
"It's better!" He smiled sunnily at Nakai. "Thanks!"  
  
Nakai coughed and looked away. "Whatever, just don't let some idiot second-year mess around trying to heal you."  
  
"Okay," Tsuyoshi said agreeably, sitting down across from Shingo. Kimura shot Nakai a glare. "He's not an _idiot_."  
  
"Idiot, second-year, same difference." Nakai smirked. "Well, more like idiot, _Gryffindor_ , same difference."  
  
Kimura lunged across the table, pulling his wand out. The resulting fuss sent textbooks and quills flying as the two older boys threw insults and curses (but mostly insults) at each other.  
  
Goro sighed and carefully set his mirror down, out of harm's way. "So much for love between houses."  
  
  
2\. In which high school Kimura and his weird yankee bandmate friend solve mysteries  
  
Nakai squats down with his joint perched between two fingers, poking at the rocks on the pavement. "Okay, so, imagine this rock is Goro," he picks up a pebble and sets it down next to a smaller one, "and this one is Goro's stolen hairdryer."  
  
Kimura crouches down across from him. "In the dressing room?"  
  
"Right." Nakai grabs a handful of pebbles and pours them down next to pebble-Goro and his hairdryer. "And these are us and all the other juniors and Hikaru Genji."  
  
"And the staff," Kimura points out.  
  
"And the staff," Nakai adds. He scratches his chin. "This might be more difficult than I thought."  
  
Kimura reaches over and smacks Nakai's pompadoured hair. "That's why I told you this was stupid!" He taps his cigarette on the pavement and sighs. "Let's just get Goro another hairdryer so he'll stop pouting."  
  
"No, no, we can totally do this! All we need," Nakai points into the air for dramatic emphasis, grinning at Kimura. "Is a _clue_."  
  
  
3\. An AU to that other AU  
  
"You're a fox spirit?" Nakai wasn't sure if he should feel relieved-- she seemed very different from the little fox spirit he'd met in the other world. Much more... dangerous. And naked.  
  
"It's unusual to meet someone who cares about us these days." The woman turned, and Nakai could have sworn he saw a shimmer of a white tail-- tails?-- for an instant. An instant later, he realized he was staring at her... lower regions... and quickly dragged his eyes away. "And you have an interesting request."  
  
"Request? I don't remember making a..." Nakai nearly bit his tongue as the woman flowed towards him, her hair falling gracefully around her body, and tilted his head up with long, slender fingers. He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that a _naked woman_ was leaning over him and certain parts of her were _very close_ to his face-- "There's something you want to know."  
  
Nakai met her eyes. They were gold, inhuman. "Shingo," he whispered, almost to himself.  
  
The fox spirit's expression softened into one of pity. "You humans feel so strongly," she said, stroking Nakai's cheek. "I suppose that's why we look after you."  
  
"Can you tell me?" Nakai looked into her face desperately, trying to find some hint of knowledge. "Did he escape? Is he safe?"  
  
She smiled, and there might have been a flicker of fondness in her eyes. "I can do better."  
  
  
4\. Xxxholic  
  
Nakai glared down at his textbook, attempting to concentrate with furious determination.  
  
"Nakai is studying! Nakai is studying! Don't disturb Nakai, Nakai is studying!" Behind him, Maru and Moro leaned towards each other and mimed _shhh_ ing with fingers in front of their mouths. They giggled, and leaned over Nakai, one chin on each shoulder. "What is Nakai studying? Is it hard?"  
  
"Hey! Nakai! Mokona wants another bottle of sake!" The black rabbit-shaped thing hopped onto the table, tapping a paw impatiently on Nakai's textbook. "And bring snacks, too! I'm hungry!"  
  
Nakai snapped the textbook shut. "You've already had three bottles! Get it yourself!"  
  
Mokona bounced away looking crestfallen, and hopped off the other side of the table into Shingo's lap. "Nakai is _mean_ ," it pouted.  
  
Shingo reached down to scratch its head sympathetically. "The meanest," he agreed. He turned a page in his own textbook. "I'll have tamagoyaki."  
  
Nakai shook the twins off and folded his arms indignantly. "I'm not fixing you anything, either! I'm trying to study!"  
  
"Not very well," Shingo observed. He grinned innocently, in a way that Nakai just _knew_ was a smirk in hiding, and leaned back. "Bring some more barley tea, too."  
  
Nakai glared at him, but stood up and stretched. "Just because you saved my life doesn't mean I'm going to feed you for the rest of _yours_ ," he warned, padding across the porch in the direction of the kitchen.  
  
The twins grabbed onto his arms, stopping him halfway. "What is it? Oh." Nakai looked out at the garden. Raindrops were falling from the clear, sunny sky. "We have a guest."  
  
The drops shimmered, catching the light in flashes of rainbow, and then suddenly there was a figure in a dark blue kimono standing in the garden, shielding himself from the rain with a traditional-style umbrella.  
  
Nakai folded his arms again, standing on the edge of the porch. "Oh, it's you. Are you here to nearly drown me again?"  
  
The rain spirit smoothed the back of his hair down and lifted his chin haughtily. "That was an _accident_. Besides, you convinced that child's spirit to move on and stop polluting the lake, so it all worked out in the end."  
  
"Right, and I was just lucky that Shingo was able to fish me out and perform CPR, too." Nakai rolled his eyes. "The master's asleep, anyway, so whatever you're here for's gonna have to wait."  
  
The rain spirit frowned, droplets spilling from the bamboo tips of his umbrella. "It's really a matter of great importance--"  
  
The doorbell chimed. Now it was Nakai's turn to frown; the shop didn't usually let in two wish-holders at once. "Don't let him in, he'll get water all over the place," he warned Shingo, and ran to the door. The twins dashed after him, clinging to his arms again.  
  
Nakai opened the door to a familiar face-- a very, _very_ familiar face. He flushed, irrational happiness bubbling up in his chest. "Tsuyo-chan!"  
  
Tsuyoshi smiled cheerfully. "Oh, Nakai-kun, I didn't know you worked here!" He clutched his school bag in front of him and bowed. "I'm sorry to intrude on your workplace like this."  
  
"Not at all, not at all!" Nakai gestured eagerly for the younger boy to come inside. "I was just about to make some tea and snacks, make yourself at home!"  
  
Shingo appeared behind him, carrying Mokona in his arms. "Oh, hey, Tsuyopon."  
  
Nakai turned indignantly. "Don't call him that! What, are you secretly trying to get closer to him or something?" He glared up at the taller boy. "Just because you're ridiculously popular at school doesn't mean you can chase after _anyone_ , you know."  
  
Shingo looked down at him, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"  
  
Behind Nakai, Tsuyoshi laughed. "You two really are close, aren't you." He toed his shoes off and stepped up into the hallway. "I'm envious."  
  
Nakai waved his hands, flustered. "It's not like that! Here, lemme get your bag--" He reached to take Tsuyoshi's bag for him, but the other boy quickly pulled away before their hands could touch.  
  
"That's okay," he said, smiling apologetically. They rounded the corner to the porch; the rain spirit was still waiting, one hand on his hip in cross impatience.  
  
"Well? I don't have the time to stand here all day, you know. And I _did_ arrive first." The rain spirit smoothed his hair down again testily and squinted at Tsuyoshi for a closer look. "Oh. Oh, that _is_ unfortunate." He huffed and tucked a stray lock behind his ear. "Very well then, I suppose I can wait."  
  
"That will not be necessary." A deep voice emanated from behind the screen doors leading inside; Maru and Moro rushed to open them, sliding them back in perfect unison to reveal a large Japanese-style sitting room. In the center of the room, a man was draped on a red settee, lounging in layers of dark silk and ornate jewelry. He lifted a long-handled pipe to his mouth and exhaled fine smoke into the air lazily, bracelets clinking; the motion caused the silk around his collar to slide down invitingly, revealing a bare shoulder. "You are here exactly when you need to be."  
  
"Oh, quit the theatrics, Kimura-san," Nakai grumbled, pulling the low table he and Shingo had been studying at out of the way. "A friend of mine is visiting, so please try to act with some decency for once."  
  
"Oh?" Kimura rose from the couch gracefully; the silk whispered and resolved around him into a long, trailing kimono, embroidered with dragons chasing each other through silver clouds. It seemed designed to show off his collar, in fact, hanging low on his shoulders and chest to reveal generous bare skin. Kimura pushed his hair back with a sly grin, fixing Tsuyoshi with an almost predatory look. "So you have a wish, then."  
  
Tsuyoshi flushed, stammering. "A-- a wish? I-- I don't really know, I just happened to walk by here--"  
  
"Ahh." Kimura glided forward, sleeves fluttering, and tilted Tsuyoshi's chin up with one long, painted nail. He gazed down into the young man's face intently, as if he could read everything he had ever done and ever would do in the lines at the corners of his eyes. "An unfortunate situation indeed. And alone, a price that would be far more than you can afford." He released Tsuyoshi, turning his gaze to the rain spirit. "But today, you are not alone."  
  
Nakai put his hands on his hips, stepping protectively in front of Tsuyoshi and glaring up at Kimura. "What're you talking about? It's just a coincidence he happened to be passing by, don't go tricking people into making wishes they--"  
  
"There is no such thing as coincidence," Kimura interrupted, his voice low. He gestured with his pipe, smoke curling around him. The dragons on his kimono rustled, seeming to move of their own accord as the fabric shifted. "There is no 'just happened.' They are both here because it simply would not have turned out any other way."  
  
Tsuyoshi touched his chin where Kimura's fingernail had been. The rain spirit looked from one to the other with an expression of dismayed resignation.  
  
"That," Kimura concluded, his lips curling into a smile as he raised the pipe again. "Is _hitsuzen_."  
  
  
5\. Fly  
  
 _Tsuyoshi runs, angry yells and pounding pavement echoing in his ears. They're catching up.  
  
All he'd ever wanted was a normal life with a normal job, a quiet, boring, average life of 9-to-5 security. But he'd looked the wrong person in the eye one day and found himself caught in a devil's snare, tangled more and more tightly the more he struggled. And downward he'd sunk, into the darkness.  
  
Behind him somewhere, the sound of breaking glass. He'd woken up-- maybe he'd felt the snare closing around his throat, maybe he'd caught a glimpse of light still flickering dimly in the distance-- but it was enough. He had to get out, he had to run while he still could. If he still could.  
  
Tsuyoshi skids around a corner into an alley and knows instantly that it's a mistake. He stumbles against a dumpster, looks around desperately for a way out. Crumbling brick buildings stretch above him into a starless night. If only he had wings, he thinks wildly, a way to lift his feet from the earth and fly--  
  
"Do you want to live?"  
  
A man emerges from the shadows. He's dressed in a suit, dark sunglasses over his eyes, but there's something different about the way he holds himself.  
  
Tsuyoshi nods. He has no choice.  
  
The man pulls out a gun and presses it into Tsuyoshi's hand. "Join us."  
  
Tsuyoshi stares at the gun, cold dark metal burning his fingertips. This? Is this the way out?  
  
Behind the dark glasses, the man's expression is flat, unreadable; but in his eyes there is a flicker of something sincere. Tsuyoshi closes his fingers around the handle.  
  
"Now," the man says, pointing Tsuyoshi's arm as the thugs round the corner. Tsuyoshi squeezes the trigger in blind panic; it hits the first man in the shoulder, dropping him to the ground.  
  
The man moves like lightning next to him, pulling out another gun and shooting the second thug in the leg. The third skids to stop with two guns pointed at him, anger transmuting to panic and fear.  
  
"This man works for me now." The man's voice is low, deadly calm. "You will not bother him again. Understood?"  
  
The thug nods frantically, sweat beading on his forehead.  
  
"Good." The man lowers the gun, and in a sudden motion punches him sharply in the stomach. The thug collapses to the pavement like his compatriots, gasping in pain. The man steps past him and turns to look back at Tsuyoshi. "Follow me."  
  
Tsuyoshi lowers the gun. His hands are shaking, but not as much they ought to be. This is his escape. This is his chance to spread his wings and fly, out of the darkness that had threatened to swallow him whole.  
  
But as he leaves the alley, he looks down at the cold metal in his hands and wonders if he's really escaped at all._  
  
  
6\. Future dystopian cyberpunk  
  
Kimura spat blood onto the pavement and wiped his mouth. One loose tooth, a bruised jaw, a handful of cuts on his arms and back. Not bad. He tossed aside the lead pipe, his impromptu friend-of-the-day, and crouched down to raid his would-be attackers' pockets.  
  
Keys, cash, some IDs... _yes_. He sucked in a reverent breath as his fingers found the tell-tale shape of a pack of cigarettes. Sweet, sweet, illegal cigarettes. Almost better than cash for the amount each joint'd bring in on the market.  
  
He thumbed his earring, switching his left eye to thermal, and scanned the rooftops. The crumbling concrete stood out clear as day against the cold sky; in the far distance, the Tower was a faint shimmer of grey, almost as frozen as the night surrounding it. Nothing. He switched back to night vision and moved on to the last of the thugs.  
  
Now that was weird. No cash, no IDs, not even a scrap of lint. The guy had nothing on him. Kimura turned the thug over, checking the back of his jacket, and froze. On the back of his neck, just hidden by the shirt collar, some kind of device was embedded in the man's skin. Kimura looked around again quickly, the hairs standing up on his arms; this was no amateur work.  
  
A spy. The man had to be a spy; even unsuited, he'd never have won against a patrol guard. But what was a spy, one of the few elite, doing after a low-life gutter rat like _him_?  
  
Kimura peered at the device. There was something set in the center of it, some kind of long, thin stick. He pulled out his switchblade and carefully pried it loose, turning it over curiously in his hand. Maybe Shingo would be able to read it.  
  
A flicker of movement pricked the corner of his eye and he threw himself against the wall, flattening into the shadows behind a dumpster. An instant of a second later, the alley was flooded in light.  
  
One of the thugs cracked his eyes open painfully. "Wha...?"  
  
A crackle of static issued from above. "THREE CITIZENS OUTSIDE AFTER CURFEW. REPEAT. THREE CITIZENS OUTSIDE AFTER CURFEW."  
  
The thug's eyes widened in sudden realization. He caught sight of Kimura and opened his mouth in a wordless plea.  
  
"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE." The air swirled through the alley, litter dancing across the pavement. A silencer was coming. "DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE."  
  
Blinding light shot down, brighter even than the ever-watching spotlight. The thug blinked desperately to clear his vision and threw one last glance at the shadows-- but Kimura was gone.  
  
And then the air stilled. They were here.  
  
  
7\. The one with mpreg???  
  
It starts when Kimura is waiting backstage, stretched out on a couch in the break room with a comic book and a hand twirling his hair.  
  
"Yo, Kimura-kun." Shingo sways in from the hallway and flops down on the couch across from him. He pulls his hat off, rubbing his eyes, and stretches his face into a massive yawn. "I think I'm pregnant."  
  
Kimura doesn't look up-- there are pirates fighting each other, after all-- but he does raise an eyebrow. "Pregnant?"  
  
Shingo yawns again and pats his stomach. "Yup. 'm sleepy all the time and I can't stop eating. See, I've even put on weight."  
  
"You're just getting fat again," Kimura tells him. Goro comes in a few minutes later, texting.  
  
"Goro-chan, I think I'm pregnant." Shingo throws an arm over the back of the couch, craning his head as the dark-haired man passes. "It's not yours, though."  
  
"Hm? Oh, that's nice." Goro nods distractedly, not looking up from his phone. "Is it a boy or girl?"  
  
"Dunno yet." Shingo pats his stomach again. "But you can be the godfather when it comes."  
  
"As long as I don't have to babysit," Goro replies, punctuated by a _whoosh_ from his phone. Tsuyoshi drifts in a moment later.  
  
Shingo tilts his head back, smiling up at the older man. "Hi, Tsuyopon. We're going to have a baby!"  
  
Tsuyoshi returns the smile, leaning against the back of the couch. "Hi, Shingo. Who is?"  
  
"We are!" Shingo puts a hand on his stomach. "See? It's already showing a little."  
  
Tsuyoshi reaches down to pat Shingo's abs. "Are you sure it's not from too much beer?"  
  
Shingo covers Tsuyoshi's hand with his own. "Nope, definitely pregnant. And we're not even married yet!" He nudges Tsuyoshi's shoulder with his head.  
  
"Yet?" Kimura echoes softly.  
  
Tsuyoshi frowns thoughtfully. "But I don't see how _you_ could be pregnant, I'm always the one who's on the--"  
  
"Five minutes!" A staff member calls from the doorway. Nakai comes rushing in, trailing cigarette smoke.  
  
"Tsuyopon got me pregnant!" Shingo announces, weaving his fingers together with Tsuyoshi's. Tsuyoshi blushes. "I didn't mean to!"  
  
Kimura sits up, reluctantly tearing his attention away from the pirates. "Don't be silly, you're not actually pregnant."  
  
Nakai glances at the mirror, adjusting his hat a tiny fraction of an angle. "About time someone other than Kimura procreated. Just don't throw up during filming or anything."  
  
"I won't," Shingo promises, nuzzling Tsuyoshi's shoulder. "Tsuyopon'll take good care of me. Right?"  
  
"Of course," Tsuyoshi replies agreeably, pulling away to fiddle with his hair in the mirror over Nakai's shoulder. "Kimura-kun, do you have any tips?"  
  
"I've lived with a pregnant woman before and you are _definitely_ not pregnant," Kimura says, nudging Shingo's feet off the coffee table with his own. "Also, you're a man."  
  
Shingo pouts. "But don't you want to be the godfather?"  
  
"Hey, you said _I_ was going to be the godfather!" Goro looks up from his phone indignantly.  
  
Nakai turns, blocking Tsuyoshi's view of the mirror. "What, I don't even come into the picture? I could totally be a better godfather than Mister Poodle-hair over there."  
  
"You can _all_ be godfathers," Shingo declares, putting his feet on the coffee table again. "Right, Kimura-kun?"  
  
Kimura gives in and joins the madness that is his bandmates. "Right. Just don't name it anything _too_ odd, okay?"  
  
~  
  
Tsuyoshi spoils Shingo something disgusting over the next two weeks, to the point where Kimura wonders if Shingo has actually convinced him that the impossible is in fact possible. He wouldn't put it past him, really. Even Goro and Nakai play along; Goro brings in his sister's book of baby names and makes suggestions (to Shingo's invarying disapproval), and Nakai actually lets Shingo doze off with his head resting on the older man's thigh.  
  
(He shoves Shingo off a few minutes later, but still: weird.)  
  
Kimura, for his part, just rolls his eyes at Shingo's persistence and enjoys the peace and quiet that comes from his youngest bandmate napping twice as much as usual until, two weeks later, Shingo comes bursting into the break room with barely contained excitement.  
  
"The baby's here!"  
  
Kimura, Goro, and Nakai look up.  
  
"The baby?"  
  
"Already?"  
  
"Wait a second, don't tell me you actually--"  
  
Tsuyoshi follows behind Shingo, carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms. A _moving_ blanket-wrapped bundle. Kimura stares in horror as Tsuyoshi sits down and folds the blanket back to reveal a small black-haired baby--  
  
 _rabbit._  
  
"Oh thank god," Nakai breathes, leaning back and rubbing his face.  
  
"We're thinking of naming her Kuro-chan," Shingo says proudly, stroking the tiny black bunny's head. Kuro-chan pokes her nose out of the blanket, sniffing the air experimentally and resting a paw on Tsuyoshi's arm. "Kuro-chan, say hello to your new godfathers!"  
  
  
8\. The one where they are normal people  
  
When he was 22, Kimura quit his job and became a musician.  
  
He threw out all his suits and wore t-shirts and denim and grew his hair out and played guitar on the street corner while working part time at a convenience store. His parents weren't pleased in the slightest. Kimura had never felt more alive.  
  
On Sundays, he would go to Yoyogi Park and sit under a tree and compose, watching the families and friends picnicking in the sun. Sometimes there would be other musicians, people like him trying to do what they wanted to do instead of what society wanted them to do. He composed about them all, trying to capture those moments of life like a photographer of words.  
  
On one particular day, he noticed a young man-- a boy, really, he couldn't be any older than seventeen at best-- setting up an easel on the opposite side of the walkway. The boy looked a bit self-conscious at first, glancing around nervously, but the moment he sat down and picked up a brush he seemed to become completely absorbed in the canvas, barely noticing the passersby glancing over his shoulder.  
  
He was there again the next Sunday, and the next one after that. Kimura finally gave in to curiosity as he was packing up one afternoon, and passed behind the boy to peek over his shoulder. To his surprise, he saw himself, bent over his guitar, surrounded by swirling impressionistic strokes that blended into the tree behind him.  
  
"What's with all the swirls?" he asked, making the boy jump.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry, I-- _oh_." The boy looked slightly mortified, raising one paint-flecked hand half-heartedly as if he wanted to cover the painting up. "It's-- it's music," he answered, embarrassed.  
  
Music, emanating from Kimura's very being and becoming one with world around him. "I like it," Kimura said, leaning on the boy's shoulder. "I'd buy it from you, but I probably can't afford it."  
  
The boy waved his hands. "No, no, you can have it! I'm not good enough to sell anything yet." He scratched his nose, inadvertantly smearing a bit of paint on it. "My parents are thinking of sending me to art school after I graduate, so then I can be a _real_ artist."  
  
Kimura smiled. "You're already a _real_ artist," he said, reaching down to wipe the paint away with his thumb. "But I guess it never hurts to practice a little more."  
  
  
9\. The one where mori doesn't quit to become a motorcycle racer  
  
Mori comes close to quitting, once. A family friend shows him a newspaper article on racing and he remembers that it's his childhood dream, that it's always been his dream, and if he doesn't at least try once he'll regret it for the rest of his life. He passes the first test without telling anyone and agonizes over the second-- it may be his dream, but he has other dreams now, too-- and in the end fails by only a single point. It's almost a relief, really, not having to choose.  
  
So he puts the racer Mori Katsuyuki that could have been aside and becomes his new dream, the Mori Katsuyuki of SMAP, singer, actor, idol, star. He grows his hair out a little more and studies cooking and sings the main vocals with Kimura, and a year later he gets his first leading role in a drama. He's not a particularly good actor, but Nakai takes him out to drink in celebration and looks so proud that he can't find the heart to protest. The roles keep coming, dramas and stageplays and eventually a movie, and somewhere along the way he does become a good actor, sometimes even a great one.  
  
He shares a dressing room with Nakai and goes surfing with Kimura and guests on Shingo's shows and scolds Tsuyoshi for drinking too much and gets angry with Goro for not dancing as well as he could, and wakes up one day to find that he's happy. He's a part of SMAP, now. Sometimes he goes to a race and the smell of rubber and asphalt makes him nostalgic, but it's not his dream, it's not what defines him anymore. He's a different person, and he's content where he is.  
  
(When they are older and calmer he will tell Nakai, and Nakai will hit him for not telling him sooner but will look happy, so happy that Mori can't imagine how things might have turned out any other way.)  
  
  
10\. The one where they _all_ quit to become motorcycle racers  
  
They always walk out to the track together, before a race. Kimura and Shingo lead the way, Goro and Tsuyoshi following behind them, and Nakai brings up the rear a pace behind Mori, where he can watch over all of them without them noticing. The cheering of the crowd echoes down the long hallway, muffled, almost unreal.  
  
They've come a long ways in the past few years, ever since that fateful day. They'd seen the announcement in the newspapers and Mori had looked ashamed but determined and Nakai had curled his fists and looked down at the ground because they'd made a promise and _this wasn't what they'd promised_. He'd lifted his head and looked Mori in the eye and said _Teach me how to be a racer_ , and to his astonishment, the others had stood behind him until Mori had given in and agreed.  
  
And so, instead of taking the entertainment business by storm, they'd taken the racing world instead. It hadn't known what had hit it; when they'd showed up to their first race, leatherclad and burning with determination, the stands had been overflowing with more fans than any racetrack had ever seen. The sport caught fire throughout the nation, new racetracks and events opening to lure them to their cities, and in their second year they invented Japan's first-ever motorcycle team relay race, which drew media and sponsors and thousands of spectators and cemented itself as an annual event.  
  
They'd lost fans, certainly, but Nakai was quite sure the number of people who showed up just to catch Kimura taking his helmet off and shaking his hair out after a long, sweaty race was still going strong, and there were rumors that one of the TV networks might even brave the wrath of Johnny's to offer him a role in a drama. Nakai himself was getting offers as a baseball commentator on the side, and the others had taken to racing surprisingly naturally-- Tsuyoshi was light and quick and was looking into tricks and off-track racing, Goro had a collection of French and Italian bikes and appeared on the covers of motorcycle magazines every other month, and Shingo, after breaking his leg and having to sit the first race out, had gone on to win a streak of races despite all expectations and had covered the newspapers with his happy, radiant smile.  
  
And Mori-- Mori was their star. He pushed himself harder than he ever had before and won races, awards, trophies; every racing team across the nation begged for him to join them, offering him fortunes the average racer never even dreamed of. He turned them all down. He'd made a promise, long ago, and now he was going to keep it.  
  
But sometimes, when they were walking out to the track, the cheering of the crowd slowly growing louder in their ears, he'd look around at them like he wasn't sure why they were there and he wasn't sure if he deserved this and his eyes would be suspiciously bright. And then Nakai would hit him because if _he_ started crying then Nakai would start crying too and that was a hell of a way to ruin a dramatic entrance.  
  
And then they'd reach the end of the hallway and the cheering would flood around them and together, as SMAP, they would step into the light.


End file.
